bakerstreet | (no subject)

...hm.

Ambiguous. I like it.

It is merely an accurate display of talent.

Hoo? And what sort of talent might that be?

I speak in the general sense of all areas.

To be talented in all areas would be quite the feat, indeed! I, myself, specialise in the study of natural creatures. Fish, bugs (though I hate them), fossilized remains, and the like. I daresay I am quite proficient in that area, but I would admit to be lacking in quite a few others. To truly be talented across a wide spectrum seems quite impressive.

[ thranduil cocks his head, a bird's nod. ]

When one walks upon the Earth as long as I, to seek betterment in all areas is a worthwhile task.

[Blathers cocks his head similarly in reply]

May I ask how long that has been?

It will not mean much to you. My lifespan is measured in centuries past.

Centuries! And at least several, from the sound of it? How fascinating. I have never met someone so long-lived before.

[It seems fantastic, but the man doesn't give him the impression of lying, and Blathers is the sort to believe what's given to him, anyway, unless he has something to directly refute it. He doesn't question it, just finds himself rocking back and forth from one foot to the other excitedly.]

I can only imagine what it must be like to spend so long witnessing the evolution of shorter-lived creatures.

[ who spends their time witnessing evolution? ]

Dull, mostly. Other than men, the rest who walk Middle-Earth change very little.

[Clearly someone who spends all his time studying fish and bugs and fossils. He stops his excited rocking, frowning slightly.]

Ah. That does seem a bit disappointing.

It cannot be helped.

[ it is the way of forgotten gods and evil spirits, in a land where magic is slowly thinned away every day. ]

I suppose not. Most creatures do settle into their adaptations, so long as it continues to suit their environment.

[Look, though, he's still excited about the idea of someone potentially being old enough to have been around to see the fossils before they were fossils, though. But he has just enough social skills to realise he probably shouldn't let himself get too carried off on that thought.]

The habitats of Middle Earth rarely change, save for a cataclysmic event.

When you say it that way, it seems as if you may have witnessed such a thing.

I have witnessed a great many things.

I don't think I get it...

Well, disastrous high five anyway?

You got it, man. [all confusion forgotten, it is time for high fiving a stranger]

.. thanks for giving my mun the idea for

feraldisaster.

Heyyy, you're welcome, homie.

Well, I'm quite sure mine is some kind of insult, which I find very rude.

It would be about food, wouldn't it...

Hoo? Hoo, I say! Is this intended to be some sort of judgement? I will have you know that my opinions about the wretchedness of insects are entirely reasonable and justified. After all, what sort of reasonable creature has an exoskeleton of all things, and makes rude buzzing noises at all hours of the day and night? None, I say.

You tell 'em! There's no reason for more than four legs, let alone eight plus things like wiggly antennae or creepy, big ass eyes!

[Those would technically be arachnids but who's counting.]

Yes! Well. [Look, Blathers kind of does care about those specifics, for the sake of propriety.] Technically eight legs would be an arachnid. Insects have six. But. But! They are all equally disgusting in my book!

[Okay maybe Rose should've figured that an owl in a bow tie might care about the particulars of animal terminology. Except books and their covers, yeah? At least they're in agreement on the ick factor.]

They still fall under the same header though, don't they? Like horses are mammals and equines. [Hah! She knows that much!] I vote we file them under "GROSS" and leave it at that.

You are so correct! I unfortunately run a museum and am forced to work with the wretched creatures, but I admit I would not be opposed to simply posting "disgusting, enter at your own risk" on that entire wing of the building.

Oh geez, you've gotta a whole section dedicated to them? Bleh! Hope you can hire some help to do the janitorial work and give tours for you! Otherwise I wouldn't blame you for labeling it with that and sticking to other areas. At least with works of art you never have to worry about paintings flying at your face!

[Just. Just this face. For a moment.]

A reasonable creature that has an exoskeleton and makes "buzzing noises" is also responsible for assisting in the creation of not only flowers, but fruits as well as other similar life, which are important for our continued existence as living creatures. Some also eliminate less desirable insects, like spiders to devour flies and other pests.

[Even an insect lover as himself can consider some insects "pests" purely for the fact that some do not offer useful things.]

But I can understand the dislike for ones such as fleas, ticks, and mosquitoes.

[It's a bit annoying when they gravitate towards him. But insects in general like to get close, anyway.]

Ah, I see. How apt.

...not gonna lie, it's kinda clever.

At least it’s not too generic, I suppose? I would have preferred something more clever, like “reydar.”

If that’s an invitation, then yes. I’d like to be with you.

Are you a Jedi now? Asking for the application process.

Was I ever one to begin with? Asking for... just asking, really. I don’t know how to answer that.

I think only you can answer that, if I'm frank. Search your feelings, etc etc.

Skywalker searched them enough, and we both know what he thought of them. And of me.

So no. I suppose I’m not a Jedi.

I think I liked it better when you said let old things die.

You don't have to be a Jedi. I can make an exception.

You didn’t exactly take that advice either, did you?

And that doesn’t sound very much like something a Jedi would say.

You were going to let my friends die. Of course I didn't take it then.

But some things need to change.

Your friends were my enemies. Your friends were led by a woman who put the galaxy above her own son every kriffing chance she got - until it was convenient for her cause.

Your friends...

Aren’t going to change either, you know. They will finish what my uncle started. They kill me on sight. And no one will blame them.

You don't know that. And I wouldn't allow it, anyway. I won't.

I'm tired of people I care about dying, Ben. I don't want to lose you. ~~Not again.~~

Do you? What am I, if I can’t be called a Jedi? A war criminal?

I know that's not what you want to be. I know you regret it.

You know as well as I do that regrets can’t change what happened.

Your actions can. Come with me.

You truly mean that?

Of course I do. I wouldn’t trick you, Ben.

I want to be with you. More than anything.

...but are you prepared to face the consequences of being wrong?

I'm here. I've been waiting.

Are you prepared to be proven wrong about yourself?

... No. I’m not.

I’m afraid of being proven right again.

You have little faith in yourself.

Let me help you.

No, I just have a long history of being proven right.

At least, about that. Not so much in other ways.

You'll never know unless you try.

... for you, I’ll try.

Thank you.

[ she loves one (1) goth mess of a man ]

It seems they weren't very clever with either of ours. Given some other things I've seen here, I think I prefer it that way.

Are you saying you don't want to be referred to as "dyaddy"?

That's exactly what I'm saying.

Aw, too bad. I was considering.

You were saying?

I spoke too soon.

[Chuckles.]

Yours is quite pretty, though. I like it.

It's more complicated than it seems, I'm afraid.

I'll take generic over attempts at being clever.

..... oh.

Surprised "99 Problems and Rey is One" isn't on your profile page.

It was a thought, I'm sure. And if it wasn't before it most certainly is now.

Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I wanted to hear.

Of course you did.

[ the heaviest of sighs ]

I was being sarcastic.

If you ask me, straightforward is sometimes what's best.

By the looks of it, I might be inclined to agree.

It's brief and to the point. Something I can appreciate.

[ after a quick holonet search... ]

I like yours quite a lot myself. It's very apt.

Thank you, Rey.

...you think so? It does have a certain something to it, I suppose.

You’re welcome.

I do. It’s very you, really.

I think I need one of those rename tokens...

You want to swap?

Don't think I could live up to the name.

Damn it. I wanted to be about pasta.

Not just pasta. You'd also have to take the dead horse. It's a two-for-one deal.

Works for me. I'd take a dead horse over everyone knowing you like the occasional drink.

I suppose most people would say that.

Ok, rename token time - want to risk it?

What does it mean?

Buttons was a lesson. First in a row of important but hard lessons I had to learn. But it feels disconnected... Do you know the feeling you get when you visit your family after a very long time and you have to sleep in your old room? You know all those little things stored on the shelves, all the memories are yours, yet they feel like they belong to another person? That's Buttons and pasta. I barely remember the man I was back then.

And sorry - that was probably more than you asked for.

I know this is going to sound really weird coming from a stranger you've just met via the Internet, but your face looks eerily familiar. Your last name isn't Rovia, by any chance?

Yeah. I do understand that. [ It's not a specific answer, but maybe the guy doesn't want to share specifics. Malcolm doesn't particularly want to share why he's a prodigal mess. ]

Ah, no. It's Bright. [ He pauses. ] Or Whitly. [ Sometimes he still gets recognized, even though he was a child during his father's murder trial. ]

Why's that? "Buttons and pasta"... I think it sounds endearing.

[ Quite unlike K's own, which he feels might as well be advertising the fact he's an obedient android. Did it really have to assign him something so unimaginative? ]

Thanks, I suppose. [ Guess who's grinning? (Spoiler: it's Aaron. He clearly wasn't expecting that one). ] Buttons was a horse that I wanted to save and take home with me... I was very naive back then, which might be part of the reason why I'm not overly fond of the username. [The other part being the memories tied to the names. He barely remembers what it was like to be that guy, the one who spend hours in the kitchen, trying to make home-made spaghetti. What he does remember is Eric, though. Every single day.]

Obeir. [ All right. He really doesn't want to jump to conclusions. ] Does that mean you are some kind of knight? Queen's guard or Swissguard?

Oh. A— real horse? [ It's hard to even fathom; K's never seen one in person before. And most animals in his homeworld are synthetic, bioengineered. Like him. Not "real." ] He must've been something. [ His tone's a little wistful. ] Naive isn't the word I'd use, but I'm going to assume there's more to your story.

[ As for his own unfortunate username... ]

I wish. Nothing so noble, I'm afraid. [ There's a long moment of hesitation. It isn't that he's reluctant to explain, it's that he can't think of any way to explain it that isn't going to sound incredibly strange to someone who might not be familiar with androids. Eventually he settles on a solemn: ] I'm... programmed to obey.

[ ... Can they talk more about Buttons now? ]

[ The question startles him - are there any horses that are not real? If so, he is not aware of them. ] Oh, he really was. Buttons looked like one of those pure bred Arabian horses. Beautiful. [ He pauses, briefly. The kid who had named the horse and told him about it was dead now - like so many people of the safe zone. You really want to hear this, K? A story about a horse (a story that has always felt more like an allegory to Aaron: his first lesson about life and living in this new world). Okay, ] A friend and I tried to catch Buttons and take him with us, back to the safe zone. It was my idea, actually. Because the kids at the safe zone liked him so much. And I really thought Buttons would be better off with us inside Alexandria's walls, that he would be safe inside a stable.

In the end, it was my decision to go after him that drove him into a field full of walkers... [ Sorry, K. Normally Aaron doesn't share the full story, but your interest did sound so genuine? ]

Programmed? As in 'psychologically programmed'? [ The alternative seems just so unlikely (but not necessarily in a bad way). After seeing the dead rise again and fighting them for almost a decade Aaron can handle 'strange'...]

[ K absolutely genuinely does want to know more about this horse, and it feels a little like being informed unicorns really existed somewhere. Point being, they're both practically mythical creatures to him, and he's hanging on every word of the story with the rapt attention of someone who's starved for this. Being talked to. Being treated like a person.

And then, unfortunately, he's transported back to reality with the reminder of what he actually is. ]

Close. As in technologically programmed. Artificial intelligence. [ Since they're sort of swapping a question for a question now, and there was one part of that horse story that didn't make sense to him: ] Walkers — what are those? [ Whatever they are, he's inferred from context they must be what led to Buttons's demise. Which he's looking sympathetic about. ] It was your decision to try and help him. What happened isn't your fault. But I'm sorry you couldn't save him.

[ Maybe it is K’s appearance, that he is so perfectly human looking and acting, or maybe it’s Aaron’s complete lack of exposure to any form of artificial life, but for Aaron K is clearly more than… screws and wires? ]

I, [ he pauses, frowns. There is really no way for him to word his questions without sounding borderline to outright insulting – and that won’t do. Okay. Restart: ] Is it okay to ask about your programming, or would that be too personal?

[ Is it even possible to insult K? Hurt his feelings? Does he even have feelings? Aaron really doesn’t have the faintest clue, only vaguely remembers the moral dilemmas that come with the creation of human-shaped AI from some of the science-fiction novels he’s read as a youth. It’s mind-blowing, really.

As is the question about the Walkers, to be honest – and Aaron’s brows go up in surprise. How can K not have heard about the virus? After ten years of fighting and losing it’s hard to imagine a life that hasn’t been touched or tainted by the virus. ] You haven’t heard about the outbreak? A pathogen that somehow reanimates the bodies? Walkers is what we call the people who died, but who didn’t stay dead. We’ve been fighting them for little over a decade now…

[ When the conversation shifts back to Buttons again, Aaron looks down, looks at his artificial hand. Back then, on the day of that fateful rabbit hunt, Daryl had used similar words. ] Thank you. I’m sorry, too. Still, after all those years. We have lost so much and so many – so many good people… [ And still Buttons death comes back to haunt from time to time. To remind him to better think twice before acting. ]

[ The question clearly catches K off guard. Or more accurately, having his privacy and feelings taken into consideration does — a courtesy he has never been afforded before, not from a human. It's highly unusual. Aaron is proving to be quite unlike any of the humans he's accustomed to dealing with... different in a good way. ]

It isn't too personal. [ It's open knowledge, after all, at least where K is from.

The latter questions are harder to provide a sufficient answer to. A pathogen that reanimates corpses — like zombies? A concept he's only familiar with through fiction and popular culture; old sci-fi novels, mainly. To think there's a place where zombies are a reality that people have to face is hard to fathom. ]

I wasn't operational a decade ago. I've only been in service for a couple years... And I've only encountered creatures like those in books. [ He admits, tilting his head in lieu of a shrug. But that's only part of the equation. Such an outbreak probably never occurred in his world. ]

I can't imagine how hard it must be, experiencing that. And so much loss. [ His eyes briefly flicker to Aaron's artificial limb in acknowledgement. He'd noticed. ] Do you still have— people, in Alexandria? Like a community? [ Then, a little quieter: ] A family?

I have to admit that I don’t even know how to word my questions. If I’m going to say or ask anything that’s rude or, well, offensive to you, I promise it’s not intentional. [ he pauses briefly, trying to find a way to wrap his mind around the possibility of artificial life and process the information K has already given him. Not operational a decade ago? That’s unbelievable (mainly because he’s still thinking in his old patterns). ]

You do look like a… well, I want to say ‘normal’ human being… [ but what’s normal, right? Before the outbreak, Aaron certainly wasn’t, and even after the apocalypse had hit his world, he had to wait for Rick and his people to finally feel accepted and wanted instead of just tolerated. Normal really isn’t a good word, he decides. ] Is it just the surface, or are you as close to a biological human as you appear? Do you share the same needs? And… when you say that you ’can’t imagine all the loss’ does that mean that you can experience the same emotions as every other human being?

[Instead of continuing his list of questions and asking if K’s hair, his skin – if it’s all real, human-based (whatever that may mean), Aaron simply lifts his metal arm up a little, giving K a better chance to look at it. Dead weight, without proper function. ] I don’t want to downplay the efforts and the care that went into this and I’m forever grateful to have this prosthetic, but, well. This is what ‘artificial’ looks like where I’m from.

[ And it also answers your other question, doesn’t it? Because he could have never made anything like this himself, so, yes, there is a community. ]

I have a daughter. And really good friends. They take care of her when I have to go on a run. [ Reaching for his old backpack, pinning it to his chest with his artificial limb, it takes a moment for him to fumble with the strap at the front and search for the drawing he always carries with him. Gracie and Daddy. ] She’s six, almost seven.

[ The sight of Aaron struggling makes K have to consciously resist the impulse to assist him, not wanting to inadvertently cause offense, either. Especially not when Aaron's been so kind to him. But what if not offering help is more insensitive? And then it's too late to amend his possible mistake when he's being presented with a child's drawing. ]

A daughter. [ And only a daughter, it seems, with the conspicuous lack of a spouse or other parent being mentioned. Carefully, he asks: ] Just you two? That's a cute picture. [ The drawing is studied like it's an interesting relic of a sort K's never seen before, which isn't far from the truth. And the obvious sentimentality involved in Aaron carrying around his daughter's art has him smiling slightly as he considers the questions posed to him. He's also curious to investigate the artificial limb a little more closely, but his sense of propriety prevents him from trying to reach for it. ]

I believe the most applicable term is "biorobotic." My kind are bioengineered — organic, to a point. [ Because his programming isn't metaphorical, and those parts aren't organic. ] I've never been human, so I can't say whether my emotional range is identical. Similar biological needs, but... fewer. We require less sleep, fewer resources. We don't get sick. We're designed for the vocations too dangerous or unfit for humans, and can survive in conditions that would be fatal to them. Extreme temperatures, radiation exposure. Space travel. We're used to colonise other planets.

[ He lapses into silence for a few moments after giving what essentially amounted to free advertisement for his manufacturer. It feels — awkward, to present this so bluntly and risk making Aaron feel uncomfortable simply for being human, but it's necessary context. ] We're designed to be efficient slave labour for humanity. This is why I'm programmed for obedience. [ Delivered in an informative but neutral tone, making it unclear how K actually feels about this. ]

[ The accident that led to him losing his left arm happened when Gracie was only two years old, and so Aaron has learned to accepting help offered to him, whether he actually wants it or not. There are only so many nights you can fight phantom pain while trying to calm a teething toddler (or struggling to clean up after a diaper disaster – which were prone to happen because tying and securing those god-awful makeshift diapers had already been tricky enough when he’d still had both his hands). And although he wouldn’t trade his time with Gracie for anything in the world, there’s no denying that the past few years have been exceptionally hard for him. ]

Just Gracie and me, yeah. [ He takes a look at the drawing, at them riding their bikes. ] She’s… not my biological daughter, though. Took her in when she was nine or ten months old. [ Not that it actually matters, not to him, since he doubts that he could possibly love any other kid more than he loves her, blood-related or not. She is his daughter, there is no question about it, and he will always be her father. But since he and K have been discussing biological life, it feels kind of important to state it. Although he cannot really pinpoint why.

When K begins to answer his questions, Aaron listens with great interest, though his obvious fascination for K’s abilities or fantastic topics such as space travels and foreign planets fades quickly as the true purpose of K’s programming sinks in. Slave labour? As – what? Backbone of a modern society? He frowns. ]

Obedience. [ He repeats quietly. The word suddenly tastes wrong in his mouth, like a bad joke told with the worst timing, and he shakes his head. Memories of Negan and his Saviours flash up, memories of how helpless he had felt seeing a man like Rick kneel (and having to kneel himself, kneel and watch Abraham and Glenn die), of risking his life to scavenge and collect food for people he despised. ] I’m sorry, I know I don’t know anything about you or about your part of the world, or the society who allows or condones slavery… but, really, to me all that sounds so fundamentally wrong.

[ The lines on his face deepen as he first looks at K’s hands, then up to his face, quite obviously searching for a way to decide what it is he’s actually looking at – a man? A robot? A bioengineered creature somewhere in-between? He’s tempted to reach and touch, see if there is a familiar feeling when touching hands, a form of connection, because to him the skin on the back of K’s hand looks perfectly normal. K looks perfectly normal, like any other guy (well, that’s not a hundred percent true, because most of the guys in Aaron’s reality are neither so naturally (or artificially?) handsome, nor so well-groomed and clean). But he does look like a real human being – and that is so confusing. Wouldn’t it be much easier to let machines do the risky jobs? Screws and wires, not flesh and bones – and K really does look like he’s made of the latter. Curiosity finally wins, ] Would it be okay to touch your hand? I need… I need to understand this, what you mean when you say that you are engineered. To what an extent?

[ A perfectly human-looking android complete with a set of emotions? Sounds a bit like a design chosen by cowards. People who want all the possible benefits without having to deal with a guilty conscience. Just machines, right? ] Obeir - you said that you are not happy about your nickname, right? And you mentioned an emotional range, that you are able to experience emotions? So. How can you stand it, how can you live like that? Have you ever thought about… about quitting? Living a different life?

[ K's only experiences with physical contact have been either impersonal — technicians ensuring he's fit for service, treating him like any other useful but disposable tool — or characterised by violence and violation, without his consent ever being a factor. Because consent doesn't exist for those like him.

And it's that, Aaron seeking his permission, more than the request itself that has him hesitating, at a loss for how to react. He's being asked, not ordered. It forces him to consider something he never has before... whether or not he even wants to be touched. He doesn't know. His lived experience dictates that he should expect it to hurt. But, ultimately, his own curiosity also wins out.

At length he cautiously reaches out and offers his hands for inspection, both held palm-up and with his fingers outstretched. He'll feel remarkably similar to if not indistinguishable from a human: warm, pliant skin, hints of calluses on his fingers, a thin fading scar on one wrist, networks of veins, tendons and bone; bone that's denser than the human equivalent, made to absorb greater impact without being damaged, but that won't be immediately apparent.

And a discernible pulse, steady and strong, should Aaron think to check for it. ]

Everything about me was designed to meet the specifications of the client who ordered me. I imagine some of my physical features may have been left to chance, because I'm not a pleasure model. [ Which are unfortunately exactly what they sound like, because a society that condones slavery is hardly going to draw the line at manual labour. K relays that information impassively. ] My appearance is less important than my function.

We're given implanted memories. False memories, of a childhood and life that none of us actually experience. For greater mental stability, I've been told, correcting a problem in earlier models. Maybe earlier models weren't aware of what they are. I've always known what I am. And what I'm not.

Obedience isn't a choice. I can't choose my life.

[ All the while, he's been observing Aaron's face and the emotions that play out so freely there, attempting to decipher their meaning. It's strange, that this human feels so strongly about the (mis)treatment of androids. That he — genuinely seems to think K himself is a person, in some capacity. A misguided assumption, but understandable, given his unfamiliarity with this technology. K's expression softens with sympathy. ]

I've never met a human like you. I'm sorry this causes you distress. Why... does it? Why do you feel it's fundamentally wrong? [ There's already an inkling of why, the seed of an idea that was planted when Aaron specified how his daughter isn't biologically his, and yet his devotion to her remains obvious. If the biology of one's origins doesn't matter to him, perhaps that explains his unusual sentimentality about K's lot in life. ]

[ And still stuck in his post-apocalyptic tech-free bubble Aaron mistakes K’s hesitation for unease or reluctance to let a stranger touch him, because that seems just so much more likely than a complete absence of positive physical contact. No handshakes? No hugs between friends? Unthinkable for someone as tactile as Aaron who practically uses pats and hugs to morse-code affection where words don’t suffice. It’s part of who he is, of his way to communicate.

Ever since his accident, however, the reluctance to let someone close to his unprotected left arm is still strong, and so – believing that he gets what this all about and that he can relate in a way – his mind runs off in a slightly wrong direction, ] I always put my prosthesis on when I have to leave my house, because I’m not sure if I can stand, you know… accidental contact or touches. So, uhm. If it’s not okay, I’ll stop. [ In a strange way what he’s saying is actually fitting and does make sense, because the only people who have ever seen or touched his scars are Enid and Siddiq and the few others with enough medical training to assist changing his bandages while his stump was still healing. No contact by choice, only out of necessity, for lack of other options. ] I just--

[ ’Have to figure out who or what you are, figure out what to think about any of this.’

When he looks up, making eye contact for a moment, there is no sign of protest on K’s face, and so Aaron finally reaches for K’s left. Calloused fingers connecting with the back of K’s hand, Aaron nods as if to wordlessly state that, yes, that’s kind of exactly what he’s been expecting. Warm skin. It’s insane, really, and so hard to believe that someone – another human - should have designed and build this. Fingers curling slightly, he draws his thumb slowly across K’s palm, tracing his lifeline. Seriously, of all things. Why would anyone add all those small details to a robot?

And then there’s the mentioning of a ‘pleasure’ series of androids and, yeah, suddenly it does make so much more sense. Of course. It’s always the same, isn’t it? ]

Is that a—predesigned imperfection or a real scar? [ His gaze flickers up again, searching for an indication to stop before he moves his hand again, fingertips touching the thin line of white tissue at K’s wrist. To him, it looks and feels perfectly normal, like a real scar, and somehow that is even more concerning. Flesh and skin with the ability to heal. Slowly, he pulls his hand away, lowering it, ending the brief exploration. ]

If you care for my opinion, I think you’ve got it all backwards. Ideally, choice should come first, and obedience should be the result of a choice made. Like the choice to stay and accept the rules of a community – like I did, when I made the decision to stay in the safe zone. I obey, because I believe the rules are for the best of our community, and I bow to the decisions of the council for the same reason. If I follow an order, I do it freely, I’m not forced to. I could just as well leave and try my luck elsewhere.

[ A human like him? His brows go up.] I’m sorry. I’m sure this must be very confusing. To be quite honest with you… I don’t even know what to think about this. For the first time in my life, I feel like… I don’t know what to say or do. Because I’m not sure who… or, well, what you really are. [ Have a slightly apologetic smile send your way, because he never meant to push you in a direction or shove his opinions down your throat – and he realises that this is his problem, not K’s. But a human-based android slave with emotions? Has him mentally stumbling through his old patterns of what is right or wrong. ]

I’ve always… had a strong need for equality and the right to just be yourself. Probably because I didn’t experience a lot of it when I grew up. I know what it feels like, when other people completely disregard your boundaries, or your sense of self. [ If K is still trying to read his emotions, have a small smile. What Aaron is sharing here may not be an amusing little anecdote, but after years of fighting walkers and losing so many people he felt so much closer to than to his real family, after losing Eric, the memories of his teenage-self have somehow lost all their sharp edges. ] But I’m not sure… do you see yourself as a person? I think I really need help understanding this, because if you do have emotions, if you are a thinking and feeling being, I find it really difficult to treat you like a… a machine. If your feelings are anywhere near the human range of emotions, I think no one should treat you that way.

[ While Aaron reassures him, K is unconsciously bracing himself for the physical contact, the line of his shoulders becoming stiff and his jaw tense; he's unable to know what to expect. The tension in his posture persists during the initial examination, relaxing by degrees once it becomes apparent that Aaron's intentions literally are to just... feel his hand. That's all. Such a small, simple gesture but it's nothing short of astonishing to K.

Though there's the lingering expectation of pain, it's clear enough that he doesn't mind the contact (not even when it extends up to the more vulnerable area of his wrist), alternating between watching Aaron's face and letting his gaze drift down to their hands with an expression of bemused wonderment. He finds himself feeling strangely sorry for the loss of contact once it's over, all too soon, and he has the inexplicable urge to reach after Aaron's hand just to prolong the unfamiliar skin-to-skin sensation. A desire that is carefully dismissed as he raises his eyebrows at the question about his scar. ]

It's real. I heal fast. Pretty soon it'll fade entirely, along with the rest.

[ Using his other hand, he pushes up his shirt and coat sleeves to reveal what's likely a familiar sight to someone who's been surviving in a post-apocalypse world for the last decade plus: old knife wounds zigzagging up his inner forearm and disappearing into his sleeves, reflecting the increasing desperation of someone fighting for their life against him. The scars are jagged and ugly, but there is a certain precision behind where each wound was inflicted. The perpetrator had been attempting to open his arteries. The biggest difference between what he is and a human will manifest within a month or two, when the scars will have fully healed without leaving a trace, exactly as he claims.

He listens to everything Aaron describes with interest, wondering at just what this motley community must be like. It's a little surprising that there's so much freedom of choice there — even if the population presumably consists entirely of humans (and formerly-humans), that they aren't trying to oppress each other seems unusual. Almost unbelievable. ]

It isn't that confusing. You possess the autonomy and capacity to make those choices for yourself. [ The obvious implication being: K doesn't. But he does understand free will as a concept. ] And your community... allows you that freedom. [ It's almost a question. ]

I'm the property of the law enforcement agency that bought and employs me. A person can't be property. It's unusual for us to even be given names. [ Hence why he goes by his serial number, or a shortened form of it. One of the many dehumanising practises meant to keep K and his kind from ever developing solid senses of self; too much individuality is considered a dangerous flaw. And yet, in spite of those practises and his programming... he has been developing preferences. And he's pretty sure he can add having his hand held to the short list of things he likes. ]

I think, I feel. But it's all the result of programming. You could book a consultation with my manufacturer, so they can provide you with specifications that'll aid your understanding, but— [ As though only now realising where he is, or rather where he isn't, he glances around at their surroundings. That are decidedly not Los Angeles of the late 2040s. Then he gives Aaron a helpless look. ] I don't think that's possible now. I'm not sure what happened, or how we... Do you know how we can go back? To where we came from?

The people in my community fought a long and hard battle against other survivors who thought that they could… force us to work for them, treat us like our lives didn’t matter at all. Our need to live as free people is what unites us, so I’m not sure ‘allowing’ is the right word. [ He takes a moment to think about the term K used to describe his situation, the photo-negative to living in Alexandria. Property. ] If you are part of the Law enforcement, does that mean you have a badge?

[ Curiosity is colouring his voice as he speaks and part of him hopes that K will have something on him, an ID or a badge. Solid proof. Not that Aaron needs it to believe K’s story about bioengineered androids – he already does. But part of him knows that he should be more cautious (knows that Michonne expects him to be much more cautious and stick to the protocol, for the safety of their community). She would ask for more than just his word.

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation Aaron takes the time to look at the surroundings, the white walls of the room they are currently in. The cool light the bright panels of the ceiling are emanating highlights the scars on K’s arm in an unfavourably way, but aside from that the artificial glow seems to morph the location into a completely empty space. Like a new page, white without any hints or traces.

Is it possible to leave this place? He doesn’t know (and he doesn’t really want to think about the possibility that they could actually be stuck in this amalgamation of realities, not when Gracie is out there somewhere, waiting for him to come home). ]

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea where we are or what kind of place this is—I thought it was an old factory. [ Because that’s exactly what the building looked like from the outside when he discovered it – like just another long-abandoned factory site, with windows dirtied to blindness and walls showing the unmistakable signs of decay and year-long neglect. ] But at least I think I know the way back to my… my reality?

[ And that is probably the only advantage of ten years of living in a post-apocalyptic world, that all the hunting and scavenging and fighting for your life would relentlessly sharpen the skills necessary to stay safe on unknown territory (or to read a person (or android) and decide whether they can be trusted or not).

Drawing a deep breath, he takes one last look at the heavily scarred skin of K’s arm, resisting the urge to reach out and trace the uneven lines that run up from wrist to elbow. To think that they could truly vanish, fade away like the colour from an old photograph… ]

I’m not sure if it is possible for you to make choices, any choices of your own. But if you don’t know your way back to your world, I think you should come along with me so that we can get you supplies. [ Because as endless as the labyrinth of corridors and rooms may be, there doesn’t seem to be a single source of nutrition. Or water. ] If you don’t want to stay for a while, I suppose. See what it’s like…

[ A glimpse of a free life, of what could be. Something real. ]

My original plan was to find my way back, and then seal or destroy the… the gateway or whatever this place is. [ Not just to stop potential invaders, but also to stop the virus from spreading into other realities or dimensions. ] Should we get out the same way I got in? I think it will be possible for us to block the entrance from my world, to make sure the walkers will stay where they belong. Maybe we can put up some warnings, too. For anyone who might take the same route as we do.

[ Securing the passage and making it as safe as possible without destroying K’s only chance to return. At least for a while.

The prosthetic creaks a bit like a knight’s armour as Aaron shifts and uses his right hand to bend the artificial elbow so that he can shoulder his backpack once again. Action to counter the brief surge of nervous energy. Taking an android from another dimension along to his zombie-infested home world probably isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but it surely feels like it’s the right one. ]

Do you have a weapon? Anything to protect yourself?

[ If not, ‘weapon for K’ will get a spot on Aaron’s imaginary list of items they will have to search for in the corridors or rooms on their way out. Reaching for the knife he carries at the hip, Aaron turns to take one last look around.

An empty room. Just four white walls with four white doors. Now, which door is the right one? ]

All right...

It's TWDland - if there's more than just one door always pick the dustier, more battered one and you'll be home in no time...

Sure beats the other name a certain somebody gave me.

[Sorry, Sorey.]

Yeah, great.

I'm sorry, do you not have two?

Me?! Unstable?! I am perfectly STABLE, thank you very much!!

[ this face, just this face ]

[…]

I think an intervention is in order. For the sake of the machinery, if nothing else.

...what? Would you rather me take it out on my officers? My crew? I can tell them it was your idea.

I would rather you go to therapy.

Oh no... No one, and I mean no one, is forcing me into reconditioning!

I...

Excuse me, "reconditioning"? I think our ideas of therapy must be completely different.

You know - what they put the kriffing Stormtroopers through! That. I am not doing that. I am FINE the way I am!

That's definitely not what I was referring to. Why would you ever assume I'd want you to go through something affiliated with the First Order...

Rather First Order than whatever the Resistance does to disloyal soldiers. But neither. Neither would be fine.

We aren't of the same ilk as the First Order. They aren't being tortured or killed, if that's what you're insinuating.

I don’t need therapy. I don’t need reconditioning. I don’t need Snoke tearing through my head again. I’m not some kind of ship that needs to be fixed with whatever spare parts you’ve got lying around. I’m FINE. Okay?

You are so far from fine it's not funny.

Fine. If you're going to be this way. Ignore any help anyone offers you, Ben, but not everyone is Snoke.

Are... you certain of that?

Why wouldn’t I be?

It's an awfully strong reaction to a simple username, don't you think?

No! It’s fine that it’s strong! Everything about me is strong! And that’s fine!

[and there definitely isn’t a Stormtrooper-created Tiktok dedicated to documenting his outbursts. Except that there is.]

Right.

I'm not sure you've ever had a role model for stability. Maybe that's why your perspective is off.

Look who’s talking.

I'm perfectly stable, thank you.

[ She isn't. ]

I fought you! In the forest! It was nothing but wild swings and righteous anger! And over a disappointing man you just met!

So don’t try to tell me you’re any better than I am!

[she’s in good company, though.]

Those wild swings and righteous anger left their mark, didn't they? Over a man who'll never get to disappoint me. Because you murdered him.

I am better than you in every way that matters.

[ Sorry not sorry? ]

At least I know he’s never coming back!! More than you can say about yours!

[Ditto. And Lies. He’s haunted constantly.]

You're being childish.

Does telling yourself that make it hurt less?

[ She knows it doesn't. ]

No! ... no, it doesn’t. It’s not supposed to!

...I don’t know what will.

I don't, either.

I'm sorry.

You’re not sorry.

I'm sorry you're in pain, even if it's pain you brought upon yourself.

You’re not sorry! Stop saying you’re sorry!

Ben.

Stop this. I am.

If you were sorry, you’d have taken my hand! You’d have joined me and we would have both been free of this pain. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that!

It's not that simple.

We wouldn't have been free of anything. Not like that.

I would have made us free! Don’t you see that?

At the cost of everything I believe in, and your own soul besides.

YES!

... wait, no.That sounded a lot better in my head.

I can't help you if you can't see what's wrong with the way you're thinking.

I don’t need help. There’s nothing wrong with the way I’m thinking. And I am perfectly stable. Got it?!

You don't want my help. And I can't make you understand.

Goodbye, Ben.

[Oh hello, himself. He can make a good guess around when you must be from, and lbr another him existing who's still like that is... horrifying. But also a little amusing in context, sorry not sorry.]

Maybe they'll let you change that in, oh, another year or two.

[a future self? Sure, that’s how the Force works.]

You mean when the Resistance is destroyed, Hux learns who’s boss and the scavenger is ruling by my side where she belongs? Of course! That IS what happens, right?

[Oh boy. He would be lying if he said this wasn't painful to have to remember. Somehow more frustrating to realise it's not far enough back for him to try to convince the other one that killing his dad isn't going to be the best idea.]

Not exactly. Though Hux is dead and Rey is with me, so you have a couple of things part right.

[unfortunately, this version is somewhere between killing the man that conceived him and not yet killing the man that groomed and manipulated him. Don’t ask about Mom. He doesn’t want to talk about Mom.]

That doesn’t make any sense.

Past the Hux is dead part. That part makes perfect sense. Someone has to answer for Starkiller Base! Better him than me.

[No argument there. Ben still doesn't want to talk about Mom.]

...do you still have your mask?

...Still? Don’t ask me how. When I woke up in medical, it was there.

I know the Supreme Leader despises it. He always has and always will. But right now, even knowing the Hux is going to take the fall, showing my face is still something I’d rather just... not do.

Hux isn't going to take the fall. Not for that.

[It's amazing how exactly he knows where the other one is from this little conversation. So much happened then. He's really not sure how much he should say about any of it but-]

Look. This is going to sound strange, but pretty soon, Rey is going to be there with you and ask you to stop an attack on the Resistance. You should listen to her.

Well, you exist, which means the Supreme Leader didn’t blame me... wait. WHAT?! Is this some kind of a kriffing joke?!

[Flatly.]

It's not.

Rey. Is coming here. To ask me to stop attacking the Resistance? And you want me to say YES?!

[there’s enough stunned silence, you can probably hear his brain breaking through the Force.]

The kriffing bowcaster wound is infected, that’s it. That’s what’s going on. The kriffing thing’s gone septic, and this is just some sort of feverish delusion... because if you really were me, you’d know WHY I CAN’T DO THAT!! Just like why I can’t go back!

[He can practically feel it.]

Not yet, that's not really why she'll come, and yes that's what I'm saying.

I know you think you can't. I was you, and I didn't. But I should have.

That... that doesn’t make any sense!

I KILLED MY FATHER! It’s far too late to EVER go back!

[The first part is true. The second part isn't. Hearing it is as good as a punch in the gut, for how it affects him. He remembers saying those words. Repeating them to himself like a damned mantra.]

You like telling yourself that.

[but everything is true from a certain point of view.]

I don’t know if I like it. But I have to keep saying it! If I believe it, then the Supreme Leader will believe it... and the pain I feel will stop like it’s supposed to.

It won't. It won't stop.

[It will never, ever stop, no matter how many things he might do to make up for it.]

And Snoke knows it.

He said it would stop. He promised.

[cue mutual flashbacks of To Catch Predator: Galactic Edition]

[You bet that's a mutual flashback. His gut twists with an anger that he'd previously reserved for, well, everything else.]

Has it ever made anything better?

OF COURSE IT HAS!!

...Well, better than anyone else ever has.

[Why is he subjecting himself to being reminded of being like this, it is a mystery.]

Right. You don't know her well yet.

[Because damn it, letting the past die is hard. You know that.]

The scavenger?! Are you kidding me?! In case you haven’t noticed, she made a lot of things worse! She got away, with the map to Skywalker, with MY grandfather’s lightsaber and more power than she knows. And she slit my kriffing face open!

...which, hold on a second. The Supreme Leader forbade the use of bacta. The medics said this was permanent. If you’re me, where’s your scar?!

She healed it.

What? WHY?!

[there’s the sound of his brain breaking again,]

[He does actually derive some minor enjoyment from watching his counterpart's mind metaphorically explode.]

She cares. Not yet, for you. But she will.

But YOU said... OH FOR KRIFFS SAKE. She’s not, like, my long lost sister or something is she? I know Dad was never around...

[...help.]

No. She's not.

[hey, it’s not fair for his to be the only brain that’s breaking.]

Just checking! I heard stories about how Mom and Uncle Luke met, okay?!

Then... why would she... If she doesn’t join us, then I... Is the Supreme Leader right? That I wasn’t worthy of such a test? That I am seduced by the light? But I killed him! I didn’t hesitate! ...much.

[Help.]

He's NOT RIGHT!

[Why is this SO HARD?
...he knows why, but.]

It's not about being completely dark or completely light. It's just... not. He's wrong.

How can you even say that?! Of course he’s RIGHT! He has to be right!

...if he’s not, then... then Dad... I... he... died for... I...

No. No... you’re lying. You have to be lying! This is a test. He’s testing my devotion, that’s what this is!

...

It doesn't stop hurting. It never stops.

Don't make it worse.

[but making it worse is our speciality, you know that...]

No. No, no no no... That... that’s...

...is... is what Dad said true? That Snoke only wants me for my power? That he’s using me? That he’ll crush me when he’s finished with me?

[It's a very strange feeling, watching this echo of his past break. He doesn't really know whether or not it's a good thing.]

You knew it was true when he said it, didn't you? You just didn't want to believe it.

I don’t want to believe it NOW either, I...

I just wanted to be free of the pain. And I’m not... i’m not...

No. It didn't work. No matter how far you try to dig into the dark... it never works.

But I can’t go back to the light either. Even if I... even if I HADN’T killed him... I have too much darkness in me to ever go back. I was better off dead! Skywalker, the other students... they all knew it! None of them believed me, even ONCE! I was a monster! I AM a monster!

They were wrong, too.

And the girl, the scavenger... what makes you so sure she’s right?!

[even though she is, and he totally feels it too. But he’s basically having to second guess his entire life. So...]

She's still here.

[It's amazing how much is said with those three words.]

I drove her away, for a while, because I was stubborn. Like you are. So sure I couldn't belong anywhere except mired in the dark. But I belong with her. She doesn't try to make me into something I'm not.

[Just something he was too stupid to admit he actually was for a while.]

How... how can you be so sure of that? That she won’t change her mind like everybody else and throw me, you, us out like space trash?

Because every time I expect her to, she proves me wrong.

But... in a good way?

[seriously, is such a thing possible?]

Yes.

[dare he say it out loud?]

...I want that.

[Clearly, they're getting somewhere.]

She'll still be angry, next time you see her. It will take some time. But not as much as you might imagine.

But the Supreme Leader will sense these feelings... if I have compassion for the girl, he’ll sense it. He’ll know. He’ll be furious.

And if what Dad said was true...

...

I can’t win.

He did sense it, just as he sensed my regret over Dad. There's no avoiding that.

But you can win, assuming I haven't changed things too much by talking to you. I don't think I have, but I won't tell you anything more specific. I don't want him to understand what I mean. You will when you get there.

What? How? WHY?! I don’t understand!!

Just... just wait for the scavenger to come to me and what, are you actually suggesting that instead if fighting EACH OTHER, we join forces to DESTROY the Supreme Leader?!

[Yes, that is exactly what he's saying. But.]

...You'll understand when you get there.

REALLY?! Stop sounding like Uncle Luke!!

[whoops, did he just call him Uncle? Damn it, Kylo, your light side is showing.]

[Just not going to point out that you've actually called him "Uncle Luke" twice now.]

Rude.

[are you insinuating that Kylo thinks before he opens his mouth? That’s giving your past self way too much credit.]

You’re NOT HELPING!!

You honestly expect me to believe that I HAVE the strength to do it... but I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do!

[He is only insinuating that that was rude.]

It's not about strength. It's a matter of finding the right moment to act--and if I tell you what that means, then there's a chance he'll find out and ruin it. But the proof that everything I've been saying is possible is in the fact that I'm still standing. I figured it out without anyone telling me. You will, too.

[not denying it...]

...ok.

Ok, I’ll trust her. I’ll trust her... But if she DARES betray me like everyone else, I am NOT holding back!

Heh.

[Hi, old me, I don't miss you.]

She'll want you to come back to the Resistance with her. I'm not telling you to. Just listen to her and don't immediately try to kill them all.

I said I’d trust HER. Not the rest of them!

I'm not telling you to trust them.

You're telling me not to kill them. It's practically the same thing!

[Really don't miss you.]

You'll lose more than you gain if you pursue them then. Just trust me on that.

Rather cruel, no?

I do not find you frightening.

[She's very sweet-looking. He wonders if it would be appropriate to offer her a hug. Even though he usually doesn't instigate such forward contact.]

Oh! That is quite nice of you to say.

[Indeed, Raikou seemed to perk up right away! That troubled expression on her face had washed away, now replaced by a smile.]

It hurts knowing how I may be perceived by others but... yes, knowing one person does not fear me means a lot. Thank you, dear.

Wait a minute! Is that a reference to my driveway??? I can't help it if you drove your vehicle through the guardrail on the way up to my castle and had to call a towing company to pull you out of the gorge! WE DIDN'T HAVE ELECTRIC STREETLIGHTS IN THOSE DAYS.

[Father...]

I don't believe it's referring to the carriageway to your residence.

[ Son!!! ]

. . . You don't?

[He's missed you.]

I may be mistaken, but it seems likely to refer to your path through life. Our family's path.

Not that your driveway isn't important, but it's not so well known.

[That was really a safety hazard though, wasn't it?]

[ Curufin has missed you, too! ]

Funny, I didn't think of that. [ Scratching his head. ]

You'd think that if my life was known in detail to this community's administrators, they'd know how many switchbacks there were in the roadway up to my front gate?

[ It totally was a safety hazard! There was a reason for the visitor's custom of blowing a horn down at the bottom of the road to signal the castle to send people out with torches to light the way? ]

You make a fair point. As I said, I could be wrong. It's not that it's not a notorious road.

[Far be it from him to deny his father pride in his difficult roadway. There are worse things to have pride in.]

From a defensive perspective, it was an excellent idea. In spite of the accidents.

[Eregion, in contrast, was not quite so challenging to enter.]

Oh well. I don't really think you're wrong. I was more notorious than the road was.

[ It's true that his father has pride in that difficult ramp of a road. He built the castle with his own hands and dug the roadway largely on his own. ]

[ He chuckles. ] It was, that's true. Nothing and no one could get up there unless we wanted them to. It was just. . . [ He wrinkles his nose. ] . . . the legitimate visitors and emissaries. It's a good thing we hadn't invented lawyers back then. We'd have got sued for negligence, for sure!

[ Curufin longs to visit Eregion as it was when Celebrimbor first established it and made that alliance with the Dwarves. Ah, if only they could turn back the clock! ]

I can't argue with that.

[Not that he means to bring up the issues he and his father had disagreed on.]

Yes, the problem was in letting your allies in. Maybe we could have invented a reliable, noncombustible light source to illuminate the way. The problem is that we'd only want those friendly to us to make use of it. Perhaps we could have given a catalyst to those we wanted to enter freely...

[Don't mind him, he's just thinking out possible solutions. But—there's really no way to fix the problems of the past.]

They would have been hesitant to sue our family, even if there were lawyers.

[Eregion was a fine place to visit, in its prime. If only so many things hadn't happened.]

No, I suppose you couldn't.

[ He wouldn't blame Celebrimbor if he did bring up the issues he and his father had disagreed on. Curufin has had time to think about those years, and being free of the Oath now, he has better ideas than he did then. ]

I like your thought! Maybe if we could have joined our efforts and summoned light from the sun and moon, we could have installed it in glass globes on poles, but used our arts to damp the light except when one of those catalysts was present. Were you thinking of a separate glass to contain a catalyst light?

[ Curufin doesn't mind him. Thinking about possible technical solutions is a smith thing, and certainly a Nolderin thing. They have that in common! ]

Perhaps so. We'd have perceived a lawsuit as a vicious attack and responded with a real attack. Well, you wouldn't have, but then, you were the sane one.

[ Eregion. . . so many things had happened to it, such as being destroyed by Sauron. Curufin desperately wishes he had been there to warn Celebrimbor in time. ]

Edited 2020-07-23 05:42 (UTC)

[It's really that he's not looking to relive arguments they had in the past. He already said his piece, then.]

It comes with being from such a renowned family.

[He had missed talking with his father about smithing, inventions, new innovations... There had been no shortage of smiths and other artisans to talk with in Gondolin and Eregion, but it really hadn't been the same as having his father with him. So he's glad to have this opportunity to talk with him again.]

Yes, that was my thought. Such light would shine without needing to be replenished, and without risk of fire or spark. It would probably have to be housed in a shell that could open and close, as such light would shine steadily. Yes, I was thinking of a separate glass or jewel as the catalyst—it could be activated by a specific spoken word, and that would open the lights.

[He nods at the comment about his sanity, as so many had feared the Sons of Fëanor in those days, many for valid reasons. His father and uncles had done terrible things, but he can understand to an extent, although he had never approved.]

Ah—there was great evil in the world in those days. Forces that could alter your mind and nature.

[The same kind of evil had destroyed Eregion, in the end. It's still difficult to think about.]

Ha. Ha.
Very subtle.

Being subtle isn't their forte.

True.

Guess we should give them props for at least trying.

I'm not giving props to mine.

He can't even spell correctly.

I would say it's a brilliant name. I approve.

Well, I‘m their weatherman, after all. People even recognize me from it. “I’m Phil Connors, and that’s Good Weather!”

Oh, God.

I'm a snake!! A SNAKE, dang it!!

My stupid brother came up with this username and he knows I can't afford a namechange.

A gremlin?

do you break things a lot?

I used to pull apart ships to scavenge for parts but that's different.

hey, maybe that's why gremlins do it too.

[He might be trying not to laugh a little bit, just saying.]

At least they're right that you're usually covered in sand.

Hey!

I'm not always covered in it, thank you.

Rey, I have a pile of sand in my room from how much you've brought in through the bond.

Apt.

Might as well say feral too.

And they say there's no truth in advertising anymore.

I see no issues. [ yes, he is very pleased with himself. ]

Great. Thanks. I think I've done plenty of that already.

You have.

Not alone, thanks to you.

Can we retire from doing that for a while?

I hope so. I'm not sure there's much left to be afraid of.

I would like to take exactly 500 naps.

In a row?

I can't believe I'm being judged by myself.

It's not judgment! I'm just impressed; I thought I was exaggerating when I said I could nap harder than anyone here.

Where there's a will, there's a way. And so on.

It's a very noble name at least, yes?

I don't know about noble. It's not really something I was given a choice about.

Sometimes greatness chooses the person instead of the person choosing greatness.

Maybe it's always that way. I haven't been impressed by those who chose it for themselves.

Tragic when greatness out does the man.

The desire for it, anyway.

Did it work out for you? The shot you took?

I spent my life not throwing away my shot and in the end the final one I took got me killed.

I suppose one could say I threw my shot away.

I'm sorry.

I don't think you threw anything away. Your life was good for something.

Np need to offer your sorrow. I made my own choices and my last unfortantally ended tragically.

You are far too kind.

Hopefully the universe will give you a rest from fighting, Rey. You deserve it.

Do I?

It's given you a rest; I'm grateful for that much.

Yes. You do - the galaxy's at peace, and I hope it stays that way.

[Ben's less sure he deserves anything, but he's happy for the second chance regardless.]

I feel much better now. Part of it's that his influence is out of my head, I'm sure. And it's been interesting to meet other Force-users, too.

I hope so, too. Things aren't perfect, but they're better.

[ Rey would argue that he hadn't deserved to have Snoke and Palpatine in his head from birth. A second chance is the least a universe can provide. ]

I'm happy for you. And for our visits.

Better's a good place to start. The galaxy has a lot of healing to go through.

I'm grateful for the visits, too, and for our time together. Thank you for letting me know how things are going back home.

There's a new Force-user I met who I think you'd like. Another lightsider.

I wish you were here to help.

Who are they?

...I do, too.

[Ben knows it's impossible, but he wishes he could do more...even though he knows he would hardly be welcomed back by most of the galaxy for good reason.]

His name is Cal. He's a Jedi Padawan who survived Order 66, before our time. He's a little skittish, as you'd imagine anyone would be after that, but he's good-hearted. And he has a droid friend who's got an interesting sense of humor.

[ Rey wonders just how impossible it is. The World Between Worlds exists, after all, and most of the galaxy had never met him as Ben Solo. If it weren't for the chance of disturbing all the peace, she'd have mentioned it by now. ]

I'll have to meet him someday. He'll be easier to talk to than your parents; it's not that I've avoided meeting them, but I don't trust my ability to keep my mouth shut about you.

You'd like him, I think. He's a talented mechanic - it's a skill he learned when he went into hiding. You might see him in my shop sometime. He offered to help me with some of the more complicated jobs.

I still see my father around, more than my mother. He comes and goes, which is fitting. I have to be careful with what I say around him - he's been kind to me even though he doesn't know who I am.